“From A-a-a⁠ ⁠…” was all that could be heard.

“I say, where are you from?”

“From A-a-a-a!” one of the peasants shouted with all his might, but still it was impossible to make out who they were.

“Get along! Keep up!” shouted another, ceaselessly beating his horse with the switch.

“So you’re from a feast, it seems?”

“Go on, go on! Faster, Simon! Get in front! Faster!”

The wings of the sledges bumped against one another, almost got jammed but managed to separate, and the peasants’ sledge began to fall behind.

Their shaggy, big-bellied horse, all covered with snow, breathed heavily under the low shaft-bow and, evidently using the last of its strength, vainly endeavoured to escape from the switch, hobbling with its short legs through the deep snow which it threw up under itself.